


the hands-on approach

by kenopsia (indie)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Handjobs (a lot of them), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:50:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5140418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indie/pseuds/kenopsia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Eames ever gets a chance to pass along some insider-trading to his past self, he is going to give himself a single head start: <i>Arthur loves handjobs.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	the hands-on approach

If Eames ever gets a chance to pass along some insider-trading to his past self, he is going to give himself a single head start: _Arthur loves handjobs._

Eames is no stranger to creating friction in a myriad of ways in pursuit of orgasms. He likes a hand on his cock, sure, but it’s not something he goes for with intensity and purpose. Like, if he’s chatting up a man at the bar and he says, “I have a room upstairs,” Eames’ mouth doesn’t fill with saliva at the thought of getting jerked off. He certainly doesn't bargain for it. 

Arthur, on the other hand… Eames wasn’t sure what it was, but once, he’d had arthur’s hands pinned above him in one of his own, scraping the underside of his jaw with his teeth, and he’d said, breathy, “Tell me what you want.”

And Arthur, flushed pink, a little bitten around the edges, wants Eames’ hand on his dick. That’s his fucking _endgame_.

Eames hasn’t given so many handjobs since he was fifteen. 

He’s getting a little bit into it, though. He always does when he’s got a partner who gets so much out of something. He let a man flog him to ribbons once, so it’s not a stretch to feel indulgently amused that he’s having sex with someone with some sort of handjob kink.

*

Arthur leaves Orlando for a job. Eames has no reason to stick around, so he kisses Arthur and tells him, “Meet me in Peru after the job and I’ll jerk you off,” and Arthur goes pink, nodding dumbly.

They work a job together and Eames spends a few minutes pretending to absently grip his wrist as if it’s giving him some trouble, thumb brushing over the visible vein on the inside of his wrist, and on the other side of the room, Arthur adjusts his tie.

It’s not just getting them that gets Arthur all bothered. Arthur spends an inordinate amount of time crawling between Eames’ legs to settle in, sitting in the fork of Eames’ thighs and arranging them to drape over the tops of Arthur’s knees. “You’re so handsome,” Arthur sighs, one hand cupping Eames’ cock, and the other sweeping over the inkstained skin of his pectorals.

It’s a little bit of a surprise, what the two of them have fallen into.

Eames has been sure for years that when the sizzling tension between them was sexual in nature. In fact, off the cuff, he can recall three times he’d thought for sure that the sexual tension between them was about to collapse. In a job they’d done involving an illegitimate heir and a wife who needed to make sure she remained that way, Arthur and Eames had fought, and it ended with Arthur who’d had him pinned, practically panting in his face.

“It’s about time,” Eames had muttered, craning his neck up to catch Arthur’s mouth, starting to feel the surge of endorphins from their fight and in anticipation.

“What the fuck, Eames,” Arthur huffed, grabbing him even more firmly by his shoulder, and giving it a solid slam downward. “That’s not what’s happening here. You fucked up because you got careless.”

Very quickly, Eames had realized that the evening was not about to end in impassioned, furious sex, which was a disappointment.

You get over these things. Eames did. He’d misconstrued, which was embarrassing for a man of his level of raw sexual magnetism, but no one batted a thousand.

After the Fischer job (and damn, even thinking about it now still made his heart thud hard with pride and exhilaration) he’d held out his hand, ready to leave Arthur at LAX, and said, “I’m glad you were there to save our arses up there,” more genuine than he usually is. “Next time I’ll follow office dress code, or whatever, if it’s a big deal to you. You’ve earned it,” and Arthur, who Eames realizes now values respect and requires a layer of explicit respect before he can feel comfortable being teased, went a little pink.   

Which is pretty much the short version of how he ended up here. Giving a lot of handjobs.

Which makes it sound like the only thing that happens in Arthur’s bedroom, but they aren’t. Arthur is a lot of fun, actually, creative and occasionally a little insane in bed. He gives pretty scorching head, climbs on Eames to ride him, and folds him past the point of his flexibility to pound him when that’s what Eames wants. Among other things.  

It wasn’t even until relatively recently that Eames started realizing that Arthur is unusually reactive to the simple act and started exploring that theme pretty heavily. He likes Arthur well enough, and he likes the satisfaction of having him boneless and pleased against his headboard, anyway. 

*

“What are you,” Eames teases, “sixteen?”

Arthur is skin is tangent to Eames’ body all the way down, warm and soft in places and ticklishly hairy in others. Arthur leans in to kiss him while he keeps stroking. “I didn’t get a lot of action at sixteen,” he says, with no sign that he’s flustered by Eames’ teasing. “Seventeen, on the other hand, fucking _rocked_.”

Arthur lets out a happy sigh.

“Tell me about it,” Eames says, heart thumping, hips jutting up to chase Arthur’s hands.

“Oh,” Arthur says, sitting up and moving down Eames’ body to sit between his legs without letting go of his cock. Eames opens them invitingly, letting Arthur get set up. “Just the usual things. But. Kyle McHanon had a lip ring, and I had a car.”

Arthur is using both hands, lotioned and warm. “You’d look really good with a piercing,” Arthur says apropos of nothing, and then his nose must be itchy, because he leans down to press the tip of it to Eames’ knee.

“Oh yeah,” Eames says, one hand tucked behind his head as he reclines, keeping his obliques flexed while Arthur looks down at him for maximum attractiveness. “What would you have me pierce, then?”

Arthur looks meaningfully at his cock, doing this thing with his hands where they twist in opposite directions and Eames throws his head back as his brain goes briefly offline. “You think,” he rasps, “That I should pierce my _cock_?”

“No,” Arthur grins, leaning down to peck at Eames’ slack mouth. “Not that you _should_ , just that it would be hot. I’m a little surprised you don’t have one, actually.”

“What?”

“I mean, not surprised, I guess. I didn’t _expect_ you to have one. I just thought it was plausible that you might. It wasn’t a fantasy, or anything. Just one of any number of things that could have happened —”

“Arthur, what are you — on about,” Eames says, faltering under Arthur's palms, calloused but still somehow soft.

“I’m just chatting,” Arthur says, still making long, rhythmic pulls with his hands. He’s been sustaining the same sweeping, steady rhythm for long enough for Eames to get sweaty, writhing from the cradle of Arthur’s bent legs.

“This is no time to chat,” Eames says, trying to sound stern. Arthur’s shoulder gives an upward, ambivalent jerk before he leans down to scrape his teeth against Eames hip while he finally gives in, moving up and down the length of him quickly, pressing against the skin behind his drawn-bollocks with his knuckle.

Eames hips buck upwards, thrashing, and he bites off a noise as his stomach tenses and his ejaculate arches high, and lands in Arthur’s hair, his mouth still sealed over Eames’ lower stomach.

Arthur looks up at him, eyes sparkling and jizz in his hair. He looks impish, doe eyed and devious. Eames takes a deep, shuddering breath, and then flips him down onto his back.

“Your turn,” he says, one hand sliding down Arthur’s stomach and the other nosing at one of Arthur’s dimples.

“Or a nipple,” Arthur says, when Eames is fondling him. “A nipple would also be super hot.”

*

On one interesting occasion, Arthur paused a hand job he was on the receiving end of to turn himself around into a position that Eames has only ever been in to give and receive oral sex in.

“Go back to what you were doing,” Arthur says, easing his mouth onto Eames’ straining penis. Which, you know, he’s not in the habit of arguing with Arthur. He's wondering if there's already a name for a handjob-blowjob sixty-nine hybrid, or if he needs to make one up for Arthur. He's never had to name a sex act before. 

*

Eames suspects some of Arthur’s affinity for _manual stimulation_ , as he once completely unsexily referred to it, has to do with kissing. Arthur is a voracious kisser, loves being able to get off while kissing. Eames, who is a bit orally fixated himself, is all for it.

Eames is getting used to bracketing Arthur in with his body, plying him with kisses with one hand down his pajama trousers. There are pajama trousers, Eames is tickled to note, and Arthur puts them on any time the air falls below twenty-one degrees C, because he doesn’t like to be cold.

Arthur makes all sorts of sounds while they kiss, and Eames loves it. He lowers himself down to crush Arthur with his bulk and Arthur goes wonderfully pliant. After a long time, Eames goes to work Arthur out of those bottoms. He only has to slip out of his own pants, because he runs too warm for lounging in anything more.

He aligns their hips, sucking on Arthur’s bottom lip, and takes them both in his hand. The friction is delicious. Arthur says his name when he comes, between both of their stomachs and then cleans both of them off. After, he lays on his side to stare at Eames, looking a little dazed.

“Do you like me?” Arthur asks.

Eames laughs a little bit. Arthur frowns, which makes Eames laugh harder. “Is that something you’re worried about?”

“No,” Arthur says, sitting up. Eames doesn’t give Arthur enough credit for his expressiveness. Suddenly, between blinks, and in the same rumpled cotton sleepwear and bare chest, he somehow manages to look like the only Arthur Eames had known a year ago. Like someone he’d never seen struggle to use a can opener.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I like you.”

“Alright,” Arthur says, placated.

He’s ridiculous. Eames puts his mouth against his temple.

*

“You should go inside, too,” Arthur says. He’s been a little finicky that session, fussing with blankets and lighting and turning on an album that must have come out when he was a teenager. He can’t seem to get comfortable, but Eames is trying his best to oblige him.

“Alright,” Eames says, and then picks up the bottle, squinting at it: “For external use only.”

“It’s fine,” Arthur huffs, hands fisted in his own sheets, in a way that looks less _sexually overwhelmed_ and more  _tense as fuck_. “It’s all, you know, organic and unscented.”

Eames raises an eyebrow at Arthur. It’s one thing to prefer hand lotion when it’s just your cock, but it’s another thing to —

“Please,” Arthur says, wriggling a little.

Eames is well aware of the fact that something has grown in him for Arthur, that Arthur has grown on him, persnickety and occasionally a little shy about what he wants, chilly at night and too hot in the morning, and mean before his first coffee. He’s fallen out of the habit on needless antagonism. Arthur was worried that Eames didn't even _like_ him, when Arthur's basically rewired his cock. He gets half hard just looking at Arthur's hands. The enthusiasm alone is killing him.

He puts more lotion on his palm, lets it warm up before he slides in with a single finger.

Arthur is so soft inside, and Eames spends a while moving the pad of his fingertip around Arthur’s prostate, the other hand firm on his cock.

He keeps his timing erratic until Arthur is twitching, straining to keep himself still and arching into his hand.

“Come on, darling,” he teases, slowing down.

“You come on,” Arthur huffs. “You’re the worst.”

“Best,” Eames corrects, twisting his hand pressing upwards in time.

“Best,” Arthur agrees, gasping a little.

*

Eames pierces a nipple. Just the one.


End file.
